


The Water Closet Wiles of Mycroft Holmes

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: As a British statesman, hiding private necessities is sometimes necessary. But it is impossible in front of the Grand Countess.





	1. Cornwall, Bournemoth and Bathrooms

Mycroft Holmes walked in the door to Buckingham Palace with pride. It was very rare of anyone related to the family to invite him. This occasion, was a debriefing. His newest case, about a blue police telephone box appearing in areas  _ not _ sanctioned by the Government, had him assigned to Lady Allison Thompson, Grand Countess of Cornwall, Bournemouth and Bath, the Queen’s young ward. He went up the stairs and greeted Lloyd, the Chamberlain. 

“Good afternoon, Lloyd”

“I believe Lady Thompson has expressed to you multiple times that as you are ‘merely a Government official’ you are to address me as  _ Lord Chamberlain _ . But yes, likewise Holmes,” the Chamberlain corrected. “I shall summon the Countess for you, just wait in there,” he instructed, pointing his diamond-studded staff at a lounge. 

Mycroft took a seat in front of the window and waited. 

_ Meanwhile, in the secondary Churchill suite.. _

The Countess was playing happily with two of Her Majesty’s corgis to the tune of 24K Magic by Bruno Mars. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Chamberlain tapping his finger on his staff to the tune. 

  
“I see you like my music, Lord Chamberlain,” Allison remarked, turning off the music. 

“Mr Holmes has arrived, m’ lady. He’s waiting in the lounge,” the Chamberlain beckoned. 

“Oh, wonderful, I’ll go drop off the corgis with Kate,” she replied. Lady Thompson whistled at the corgis to follow her, which they did, their stubby legs wiggling on the palace carpets.

In the lounge, Mycroft scratched his thigh and wiggled his feet with the recent notice of his bladder, which was reaching the “tickly” stage of discomfort. He mentally wondered if he should fetch the Chamberlain for an update, but decided the Grand Countess would undoubtedly be there shortly. And if 15 minutes can be considered short, then yes, she was. 

A young woman in a casual yellow summer dress, stepped in the lounge.

“Hi, Mycroft, sorry about the wait,” she greeted him. 

Mycroft stood and bowed, shaking the Countess’ hand respectfully. 

“Long day?” Allison asked kindly. 

“Not particularly, just checked in with my brother this morning, stopped by a bakery,” Mycroft stated. 

“Had some tea?” 

“Yes, several cups, around the part where Sherlock went on about how the corners of the balconies above Ten Downing street are against the original architects’ wishes in 1903,” he confirmed with a chuckle and an eye-roll at his  _ alternatively _ eccentric younger brother. 

“Right, I heard about your standard ‘stiff lower legs’, suppose the tea takes a bit to turn them off,” Lady Thompson joked.

“Quite,” Mycroft followed the Grand Countess to a larger lounge, where they sat down in nice white velvet chairs.

Lady Allison began the conversation. 

“It’s my understanding you agreed to sign a confidentiality agreement in regards to the classified information I’m about to divulge to you?” 

“Yes, though I’m not quite sure exactly why it doesn’t fall under the clearance given by my position,” Mycroft remarked, curiously. Allison smirked. 

“Well, that might be because you consider yourself the embodiment of British Intelligence. That is a misconception. You are  _ not _ British Intelligence, you are its protector. Let me show you,”

She picked up a silver platter and a polishing cloth. 

“Imagine this platter is British Intelligence. You are the cloth. Take care not to rub your civic duty at people, that’s how wrinkles are made,” the Countess explained, shooting a quick jab. 

“My, The Times wasn’t exaggerating when they called you plucky and un-orthodox,” Holmes noted. 

“I’m merely embracing  _ all _ facets of Britishness. One should always be prepared for banter,” Allison smiled. “Especially when one is in the company of a man who prefers riding in helicopters to shooting at them.” 

“Perhaps we should get back to the matter at hand,” Mycroft grabbed back the more serious topic. Or so he thought. 

“Yes, of course. Now, this is a story I have been  _ really thrilled _ to tell more  _ normal _ government officials,” Lady Thompson stated excitedly. 

“I’m glad he finally got around to catching the attention of  _ your _ department.”

“Who?” 

“Correct,” said Lady Thompson.

Mycroft made a small confused expression, while the Countess’ was more one of amusement. 

_ To be continued.. _


	2. A Study in Wibbly-Wobbly Timey Wimey Stuff

“After the Second World War, a young Brigadier General named Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, was appointed the head of a new aerial defence department known as UNIT, the Unified Intelligence Taskforce. Have you heard of it?” Allison asked. 

“Yes, I believe he protected Britain against major invasions, but the details I do not know, not even who was behind them,” Mycroft noted.

“Aliens,” Thompson told him. 

“I beg your pardon?..”

“Extra-terrestrials. Combatants from other planets, in other distant star systems,” she elaborated. The countess took out a folder with a UNIT seal. 

“This, is irrefutable evidence of the existence of alien life.”

Mycroft looked through the pictures and reports. 

  
“Impossible”

“I assure you it is not,” Lady Thompson stated, pulling out a plastic-y rock. “Does this look like it contains materials from Earth?” she challenged him.

“No,” Mycroft muttered, impressed.

“Now, about the police box,” Allison continued. 

“It’s not a Police Box. That’s just a disguise. A slightly coincidental one, as well. It’s bigger-on-the-inside, and is actually a space-time vessel known as a TARDIS,” she explained. “Time and Relative Dimensions in Space. Goes where the name suggests.”

“Right. Who owns this TARDIS? Do we know?” Mycroft asked.

“My people know, you’re the first from your gang, that we’ve allowed clearance,” Allison explained. 

“Your people, that’s UNIT, I presume?”

“Yes. I work for them on a freelance basis. As a friend of the Monarch, I got the opportunity to travel frequently with its owner. Still, one must keep calm and carry on, on the planet you are born on,” she remarked.

“So, who are they?” Mycroft repeated, to which the Grand Countess burst out laughing. 

“Sorry, it’s just that he would’ve loved hearing you ask that..” Lady Thompson commented.

“His name is the Doctor. He is the last of the species Time Lord, from a planet many million light-years away, formerly known as Gallifrey,”

“Formerly? So it doesn’t exist anymore?” Mycroft enquired.

“Not in the traditional sense,” she clarified.

“So, he’s called the Doctor. Doctor Who?” Mycroft wondered.

“Indeed. That is what everyone asks about him. His name is the Doctor. Just ‘the Doctor’. His real name is unknown to anyone, but that is the name he chose for himself, long before he met us.” the Countess answered happily.


	3. Go pee!

Mycroft simply nodded, taking in all this strange information.

“I have summoned the Doctor to talk to us about why he, or as it usually is, the TARDIS, chose these particular spots to land. Basically, why the grand scheme that is time and space has asked for his assistance there,” she explained further.

“Now, before he gets here, as I think you’ve held it in long enough, the toilet is right around that corner,” Lady Thompson informed him. 

“I..don’t know what you’re talking about, madam,” Mycroft lied, nervously. 

“Yes, you do. You waited approximately 20 minutes, from the Chamberlain summoning me to the point I arrived, after moving two corgis into the care of Duchess Kate. You told me  _ yourself _ that you had more than one cup of tea prior to arrival. Then, when you greeted me, your thighs were clenched together tightly, along with your feet. That’s why I asked you if you had a long day, as it would explain why you ended up needing the loo whilst waiting for a noblewoman at The  **Palace** , understandably a situation where you wouldn’t ‘disgrace’ yourself by asking my lovely Chamberlain for the toilet, like I do, when I forgot the architecture of this giant place,” the Countess observed, calmly. 

She continued, “ Furthermore, it is impossible to maintain a courteous still position when hearing about the Doctor, much less so when bothered by your bladder. You got fidgety quickly. I didn’t point it out at the time, out of kindness, due to what I see on your face; it would embarrass you. I may be noble and friend of the Queen, but pretending normal human needs for the toilet don’t exist, benefits no one. I strive to accept it, and advise others, like yourself. There’s no need for further pretence, Mycroft. I know, and do not find it impertinent or crude in the slightest. It’s a natural need. Go on,” she implored him.

“Very well. Brilliant, I’m absolutely bursting, frankly. Thank you m’lady, back in a tic,” Mycroft excused himself. On the way, he ran into a tall white-haired man in what appeared to be magician’s robes. “Hello, you must be Mycroft Holmes,” the Doctor greeted the intelligence director. Before Mycroft could shake his hand briefly, Lady Allison rolled her eyes, and addressed the Doctor. 

“Doctor. Toilet first!” she pointed in the direction Mycroft was going. The elder Holmes looked at the Time Lord’s spindly long legs. They were jiggling, and partially crossed at the heels. 

“That’s how you knew.,” Mycroft remarked. 

  
Allison smiled. “Now go  _ pee _ ! Both of you,” she instructed strictly. They obliged, having a nice, more  _ relieved _ afternoon talk. The End.


End file.
